


Friends in Low Places

by Chrisio



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crutchie is trying his best, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jack is an angry boy, Pre-Canon, Sorry about the OCs, but this is pre-canon so I needed older newsies, children fighting, i guess, physical altercation, they're KIDS, this was supposed to be 3k words, what happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrisio/pseuds/Chrisio
Summary: It was supposed to be a good afternoon.Today has been a good selling day -- it's been a really good selling day, if Crutchie is honest. Early afternoon, good weather, and no more papers to sell. What was he to do with all that free time?On his way back home, however, things take a turn for the worse. Honestly, there was no telling how fast a good day could turn bad, especially when more than one newsie is involved.





	Friends in Low Places

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So this is from a request: "could you write something with crutchie protecting jack someway? whether with words or a good hit from his crutch, you pick." Well, since it involves causing my boys pain, I'm unable to pick something like this. Sooo.....take both? Both is good.
> 
> Pre-Musical. Jack is 11, Crutchie is 9.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

With a bright smile and a chirped "Thank you," Crutchie Morris finds himself passing over the last paper in his newsbag.

Today has been a good selling day -- it's been a  _really_  good selling day, if he's honest. With a few regulars stopping by that morning, and the weather warming up into early summer, the temperature isn't the only thing that appears to be rising. People's spirits are high, and passerby have been friendly, stopping to converse more than they usually would. Paired with the winning smile (he's been practicing!) and some quick banter, the conversations he'd struck today had good chances of ending with newspapers and coins exchanging hands.

Leaning back against the wall of a building and out of the way of foot traffic, Crutchie glances up at the sky. Early afternoon, looks like, and a few hours before the time he usually runs out. Papers don't usually sell so fast, but hey, he's not complaining. Running out sooner means more free time for him.

It's impossible not to grin at the thought. A whole afternoon off! What'll he do with all that time?

It's hard to choose, really. There are too many things to pick between. He  _could_  just go back to the house, but then there's no guarantee that any of the other boys will be back this early. Besides, there's nothing really to do in the place with no one else in it. Maybe he could join up with another newsie and stick around until they finished selling? James and Specs sell papers somewhere close by, and Louie isn't too far past them. It wouldn't hurt to pair up with someone else for the afternoon.

 _Or,_  his mind offers quietly,  _you can go exploring._

His eyes brighten at the idea. That's right! He and Jack have been going out exploring recently, intent on finding all the best hiding spots and ways to get around the streets. So far they've found a couple of good spots, but nothing really that great. The only one that could really be called that was this big, drafty place, one Jack had found a while back. It was a theatre, he had explained, a fancy performing place, where people would dress up and put on shows. Rich people would pay to spend an afternoon inside the dark building and watch others play 'Pretend'. At the time, Crutchie thought it was kind of weird -- money could be spent much better ways than sitting in a dark building, watching people. Heck, you could watch plenty of people on the street and spend the money feeding yourself for the day. But from the way Jack made it sound, the way he beamed about it and how he gestured excitedly...maybe, after giving it a bit of thought...Crutchie can try watching something  _once_ , if he manages to sneak in.

 _"And the best part,"_  Jack had told him a different time, eyes shining,  _"the lady who caught me the first time, you remember me talkin' 'bout her? Guess I wasn't careful enough this time, either. She found me watchin' the painters again. Said if I liked watchin' them so much, I might as well go try it. So I did! They let me walk right up and found me some extra stuff, an'-...and I don't even think she was all that mad about me sneakin' in again. I mean, she was smilin' and everything!"_  Ever since that conversation, maybe a month or so ago, it was all Jack ever talked about. Well, that and selling. And every single time they ended up talking about it, Jack would bug him about coming along when he went back.

_"You sure ya don't wanna come with me next time? You'd have a lotta fun, Crutch. I promise!"_

With a blink, Crutchie feels his smile grow even wider. That's what he would do. He'd go find the theatre! That way the next time Jack asked him to come with, he would agree, and he could surprise Jack by already knowing how to get there. Maybe he could find the lady Jack talked about too! Wouldn't that be funny, if she passed by and greeted him by name? The look on Jack's face would be priceless!

Giggling a little at the absurdity, Crutchie starts making his way along the sidewalk, cutting between buildings when a shortcut presents itself, or when foot traffic grows just that bad. Jack had told him a little bit about where the theatre was compared to the Lodging House -- and if Crutchie just remembers his streets right, he won't need to go all the way back home and navigate from there.

After going a couple blocks, he stops, peering at the buildings around him to try and get his bearings. It looks familiar -- which is slightly relieving. But where is he...? With a start, he realizes he's at the very farthest edge of Jack's selling area, at one of the spots where the territory starts bleeding into another newsie's streets.

_Huh._

This was where Jack had taken him to sell when he first joined the newsies. It feels like forever ago. The memory is warm, wanting and waiting to be indulged, but there's something more important at the forefront of his mind right now.  _If I'm in Jack's selling spot....._ _then the theatre can't be too far away!_ It would make sense for it to be close by -- and with a renewed sense of excitement, Crutchie heads for an alleyway, eager to cross over to the street on the other side. He only takes a few steps in, however, before something strange makes him freeze. Lying on the ground in front of him is a lumpy bundle of fabric, looking worse for wear. It's squashed on one side, a faint dusty shoe print visible on top.

_Well that's weird._

If he was just passing by on the street, he probably wouldn't think anything of it -- it blends in relatively well with the rest of the trash littering the ground. However, the way it is, lying in the middle of an alley...something about it strikes him as odd, though he doesn't know  _how_  or  _why_. Huffing a little in confusion, Crutchie crouches down, carefully picking it up to study. As he lifts it up, the fabric falls down into place, revealing it not to be just a plain blob of fabric, but instead the familiar shape of a newsboy cap.

_...What's a hat doin' out here in the middle of an alley?_

He frowns at it for a few moments longer, stumped. Suddenly, there's a crash. Crutchie's head snaps up to see something blue-and-white tumbling toward him, knocking over metal garbage cans and creating a huge racket in the process. He drops the hat, scrambling to his feet as he runs, ducking back behind the corner. As he presses himself against the brick wall of the building, he tries to take stock of what happened. His heart is racing, and he's panting, but he isn't hurt -- at least, not that he's aware of. Crutchie shakes his head, trying to focus, trying figure out what to do.  _Easy,_  he thinks.  _Easy! Just got scared, is all. Come on, it prob'ly wasn't anythin' bad. Coulda just been a cat runnin' into something and knockin' the cans over._ As the residual clangs finish bleeding into the air, Crutchie takes a shaky breath. Swallowing, he steels his nerves before peeking out around the side of the building. This time, he doesn't step in; he's content to see what's going on  _without_  getting hurt, thank you very much.

By this point, there isn't anymore crashing going. Instead, the racket has been replaced by the sounds of scuffling on pavement. 

...wait. Scuffling?

_What?_

Frowning, Crutchie's eyes strain to pick out what's happening in the alley. If he squints, he's able to see two figures going at it -- that's probably what knocked those trash cans over. They probably ran into them and didn't see him crouched behind.

As the sounds of fighting get louder, Crutchie's head sticks out further so he can see better. It's hard to see with the light in the alley being dimmer than the street, but now he can make out two distinct shapes of kids tussling. One of them, larger than the other, is definitely soaking the other kid pretty good, and Crutchie winces as the smaller one cries out in pain. From his spot on the side, he watches the smaller one stumble forward and take a swing. The bigger kid easily ducks away before punching him in the stomach. While the smaller boy doubles over, the other kid grips his hands tightly in the other's shirt (which explains the blue Crutchie had seen earlier) before shoving him roughly up against the dirty brick wall. Crutchie sees him lean closer, hears him mutter something he can't make out from back here. The smaller kid shakes his head before trying to push the bully away, but it doesn't work. He's thrown against the wall again, and the larger boy slugs him across the face. His head snaps toward the mouth of the alley, finally granting Crutchie a better look. At the sight, Crutchie's eyes widen, blood running cold.

That wasn't just any kid getting pushed around. That was  _Jack_.

His heart skips a beat at the realization. Before he knows it, he's flying down the alley as fast as he can manage, heart racing and crutch thumping against the asphalt.

"HEY!"

The bigger kid's head snaps around, eyes blinking as he focuses on Crutchie limping toward them. As he gets closer, Crutchie falters. He...recognizes the other guy too?? But where? He isn't a newsie --  _definitely_ isn't another newsie. Who is he?? Crutchie's mind races as the other kid pauses, taken by surprise. While his attacker's focus is elsewhere, Jack tries taking advantage, lunging forward to try and escape the iron grip wrapped around his shirt collar. It doesn't work, however -- the kid easily decks him across the face again. He's slammed back against the wall before the other boy finally lets go. Without anything holding him up, Jack drops like a bag of bricks, and Crutchie screams his name as his friend collapses. The bully turns toward Crutchie, whose eyes are stuck flickering between the bully and Jack laying on the dirty ground.

Now that the other boy is facing him and not shoving Jack around, Crutchie's finally able to get a decent look at him. Street-working kid for sure, but with a rounder, looser cap, its brim flipped up to reveal a crop of dark hair. There's nothing remarkable about him, really, until Crutchie notices the way his skin reflects the light of the afternoon sun, hands stained black and gleaming all unnatural-like. As the stranger's stance shifts, a rag can just barely be seen hanging out of his pocket, and details finally begin to click into place.

The kid is a bootblack -- a shoeshiner. If Crutchie has to guess, he would probably find the characteristic wooden box-stand nearby. With a start, he realizes this is the shoeshiner that hangs out on the corner a couple blocks over from the lodging house. Sometimes Crutchie and the other newsies pass by him on the street if they go to Jacobi's. Only brief nods, short greetings -- working on the street, as much time as possible is needed to bring in customers. So they don't talk much, maybe only once or twice in passing. But, if Crutchie's memory serves right, his name is....William? He isn't sure, he never really talks to the other sorts of working kids all that much, and the older newsies keep an eye on him anyway, but-

"Well, well, well. What'cha doin' here, kid? Ya stupid or something?" A voice wrenches him from his thoughts, making him focus on the near-stranger standing in front of him. Crutchie adjusts his weight, grip tightening against the handle of his crutch. "Y'come here for a show?" He's silent, mute, searching desperately for words that refuse to show up. When he first yelled, he hadn't really thought past the whole 'needing to help Jack' thing. What does he do  _now??_

Well, he should probably say something, to begin with. He  _should_  say something. He  _ha_ _s_  to say something! If things were opposite, Jack would be talking away like no tomorrow! He'd talk so much the other guy would practically give back whoever he was beating up, just to get Jack away! He  _should_  be able to talk, so _why c_ _a_ _n't he_ -

The sound of a snort interrupts his self-induced panic. "You gonna talk?" At the lack of response, William's face twists into a crooked smirk, and he gives Crutchie a once-over. "Guess not. Betcha yer brain's as bum as your leg, huh?" He chuckles, almost like he said something funny, and takes a menacing step forward. The movement causes Crutchie to flinch and shuffle back in fear. "Now beat it. I got somethin' to finish and I don't need a gimp gettin' in th' way." William tosses a final contemptuous look toward Crutchie as he turns, and a jolt of panic races through Crutchie at the realization that this jerk is going in for round two.

Jack is gonna get  _hurt_.

He has just enough sense to see William go back to where Jack has tried dragging himself away. He has enough sense to see the kick plant in Jack's stomach, to hear the cry of pain that escapes. Fists ball in Jack's shirt, dragging him up to his feet, and that's when Crutchie's vision blurs.

He yells (though he doesn't even know if he says an actual word), and suddenly he's rushing over as fast as he can. He plows shoulder-first into the older boy, causing him to tilt off-balance. William stumbles but soon regains his footing, and Crutchie shies back at the look of infuriation blazing in his eyes. His eyes lock on Crutchie, and cold fear washes over his body.

Oh, he's  _so_  dead.

"What, you want me to soak ya  _first_?!" William snarls, turning. He tosses Jack to the side, and Crutchie watches in horror as Jack slides down against the wall, an arm wrapped around his stomach and his face screwed up in pain. Suddenly his view is blocked as something moves in front of him, and he's lifted by his shirt, tiptoes just barely scraping the ground. There's hot breath in his face, and Crutchie grimaces up at the face of the older boy. He looks older than Jack, even, though not by much, but he's still bigger than the both of them. Despite being trapped in his thoughts, Crutchie sees a fist rising out of his peripheral before it disappears.

A blow smashes across his cheek, bringing tears to his eyes. Pain erupts across his face, and, more out of reflex than anything, Crutchie jabs his crutch downwards.

He was lucky.

His crutch slams into William's foot. The boy's eyes bulge, and he automatically releases Crutchie, swearing like the sailors said to hang around the Brooklyn docks. Crutchie uses the distraction to stumble back, trying to regain his balance while shaking some sense back into his head. Okay,  _think_. He wrestles with the other boys at the lodging house all the time -- this was just like that. Almost?? Alright, it was  _almost_  like that. Except this time he has a chance of  _actually_  getting hurt.

He shoves the thoughts away for the moment. There isn't time to stop and think it through right now!

His eyes snap back up to his attacker. William seems to have shaken off the initial pain well enough and is now slowly approaching Crutchie, keeping a wary eye on him. Now that he's aware Crutchie can wield the crutch as a weapon, he's more careful, weighing Crutchie up before making any other hasty moves. They both stare at each other, locked in stalemate.

After a few tense moments, Jack's leg shifts as he appears to try and gather his legs beneath him. Crutchie's eyes automatically flick over to the movement, and William takes advantage, rushing him. Crutchie shrieks as he's plowed over, kicking and scratching at anything he can reach. The other boy is heavy, yes, and Crutchie is small, but living in the lodging house has given him one advantage:

It's taught him how to get away.

Being one of the youngest in a house full of kids means there's plenty of time to roughhouse. Crutchie's been the underdog way too many times in either a wrestling match or a tickle-attack. So when there's a larger body pinning him down, instinct takes over. He yells, shoving at the older boy's chest, clawing at his face. There's the feeling of fingernails raking down skin. The fight becomes a tangle of limbs, and time blurs together as he works on pure instinct. He doesn't know how long it's been, but suddenly he comes back to his senses as he knees William in the stomach. Crutchie finds himself squirming out from underneath his attacker and scrambling away as fast as possible. With a pang, he realizes he doesn't have--

_Crutch, where's my crutch I need my crutch!!!_

He lost it!  _Where'd it go where'd it go where'd it-_

_There!!_

Arms outstretched, Crutchie throws himself across the ground. Pavement scrapes his hands and knees, catches on his clothes, but he doesn't care. Within no time, he manages to scoop his crutch up, pushing himself onto his feet after only a couple seconds. Whirling around, it's easy to see William staggering up to his knees. Without thinking, Crutchie swings wide. His crutch whacks into William's shoulder, knocking him over.

When he looks up, the glint in his eyes is murderous.

Crutchie tries swinging at him again. This time, however, the surprise factor has worn off. William's ready, and this time he catches the crutch just before it smacks into his shoulder again. He rips it out of Crutchie's hands, and Crutchie is unprepared for his feet to sweep out from underneath him. He crashes into the ground, winded and crying out in pain. As he struggles to regain his breath, he looks up to see his foe haul himself to his feet. William casts one look down at the crutch before judgement shifts in his eyes, and he tosses it back behind him. As it goes skittering away across the pavement, Crutchie's heart pangs with fear. He's dead. He's dead, he's  _so dead_. William's focus turns back to Crutchie, and the young boy barely swallows a whimper as he scoots back, trying to get away. Brick wall soon presses against his back, blocking him from going any further. Footsteps continue stomping closer, and soon Crutchie flinches, cowering as they stop in front of him. He's roughly hauled up to his feet and shoved back against the brick wall. It doesn't even hurt anymore, just aches -- everything hurts by this point -- but Crutchie still can't help but hiss on impact. His shirt is grabbed, and he's helpless as another face looms down into his, close enough to see the scratchmarks that were inflicted earlier.

"You'se a little shit, ya know that?" William growls venomously. His grip shifts tighter on Crutchie's shirt collar. "'Bout time we finished this, huh?" Crutchie doesn't answer; instead he just shrinks down, turning his face away and screwing his eyes shut.

The anticipation is always the worst part.

"...Yer right."

Suddenly a voice -- a different voice -- barely sounds from behind William's back. There's a jerk, and Crutchie is dropped back onto the groud, which knocks the breath out of him in the process. In the blink of an eye, William is whipped around, now facing away from Crutchie. A hand on his shoulder holds him in place, and Crutchie can only watch as a miracle happens.

Jack's arm pulls back, and time almost seems to slow down as he slugs William across the face.

The boy's head snaps to the side from the force of the blow, and he staggers, trying to keep from tipping over. While he's distracted, Crutchie's eyes scan desperately for his crutch. Where-- there! He ducks around the two older boys, just about diving for it when he's close enough. Relief hits him instantaneously when he snatches it up, and he quickly shoves it under his arm. No longer focusing as hard on staying steady, Crutchie finds a brief second to catch his breath and assess the situation.

From this perspective...well, things don't look good. Jack's staggering again, leaning against the wall for support after possibly shoving William back a short distance, and this time Crutchie is barely standing too. The bootblack looks haggard and worn out. They're all exhausted, Crutchie realizes. But from the way Jack and William are glaring at each other, the fight won't end without a definite victor.

Sure enough, Jack begins to straighten up, taking a couple short steps before crumpling back against the wall. At the sight, Crutchie's heart misses a beat.

It happens again when he sees William take a few slow steps toward Jack.

However, he doesn't make it very far. It feels like Crutchie's feet barely touch the ground as he flies out from behind Jack, plowing into William and pushing him toward the mouth of the alley. Crutchie watches the older boy stumble back and almost lose his footing. It's a huge opening for a swing, a shove, anything, but Crutchie doesn't take it. Instead, he shuffles into the middle of the alley, standing between the two older boys.

In this moment, nobody moves. Jack is behind him, hopefully on his two feet, but honestly, Crutchie's unsure. He's more concerned with William, staring at him, almost daring him to try again. The tension is palpable as both sides study the other, unwilling to make the first move.

Well...he's not about to stand here all day.

The quiet persists for a moment longer before Crutchie moves. He jerks his crutch up, and the movement causes William flinch back. However, Crutchie isn't going for an attack -- instead, the crutch pounds into the pavement as he snarls. "Now git!" He yells, weary but willing to swing his crutch again if need be.

William freezes. After a momentary, hesitant shuffle, he turns, almost tripping over garbage more than once as he scrambles to get away.

Crutchie just stands motionless, glaring coldly as he watches the other boy escape.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun Fact: this was supposed to be a one-shot. I'd been writing it as a one-shot until about a week ago. What the heck actually happened.
> 
> Come find me at my Tumblr!: [@Schmilliam](https://schmilliam.tumblr.com/)


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